Ten: On the Sly

Duo opened his eyes.

Above him the black frame of the upper mattress was just visible in the dim light of the dorm. It was morning.

Duo Maxwell did not need an alarm, or sunlight, or morning birds to tell him this, he just knew. It was a few minutes after seven, give or take a few seconds.

Funny that a colony born-and-bred boy could have such an accurate internal clock; timed to a sun he had never seen move until he had come to earth.

He closed his eyes again, allowing himself a quiet sigh. He was tired, having slept for only a few hours, but he had gone without sleep many a time before. He was sore, but he often woke up to aches and pain. None of these were of any special interest to him. The only matter of note on this particular morning was the feeling of warmth that spread throughout his thin body; this was new, this was rare, and he would easily admit that This, was welcome. He lay, and took a minute to enjoy this new sensation: the feeling of a presence to his side, the warmth of another body nearby. He reveled in the warmth, spreading his awareness throughout his body to fully appreciate the feeling of blurry goodness that was the lack of numb fingers, ears, nose and toes.

Duo had to admit to himself, warmth was probably his favorite part of coming to Earth. In space, things were always cold, metal, and artificial. Everywhere you went was a perfect but often insufficient twenty-one degrees centigrade; a temperature in which one didn't require sweaters or jackets, but at the same time was never comfortable in t-shirts or shorts. On L2, if you didn't keep moving the tips of your fingers and your face would become numb, and when you slept you woke up cold and stayed that way until you started moving again.

Though he had not noticed or cared at the time. Ignorance was bliss, and until leaving, Duo had never thought anything of it as he layered clothes and woke up during the night to move around and get his blood flowing again. In those days being cold was a hidden asset, helping to keep sleep to a minimum, allowing him to be active when others were oblivious and the colony was ready and waiting to be explored.

On Earth, it was different. He had felt the sun, and baked in his black clothing under its rays. He had had to roll up sleeves, remove layers, and expose pale skin for the first time in his life to avoid overheating. When he'd worked on the farm those first few weeks he'd burnt so terribly his employer had forced him to wear wide-brimmed hats for days afterwards, concerned that he might have some sort of condition.

But it was worth it. Given the choice, Duo would never again live at twenty-one degrees, he'd take Deathscythe and capture some deserted island, or go to the desert, or even move to mercury if it meant that he'd never be cold again.

Mercury? He laughed to himself silently, opening his eyes again. You're rambling, he chided himself inwardly, Even when you're silent you're rambling. Next you'll start to compose the first few stanzas of 'Duo Maxwell's Ode to Warmth' and give up this life of crime to clean pools in some rich neighbourhood in the south somewhere! For God's sake, you can barely swim.

Allowing himself a sly grin, he derailed the ridiculous train of thought he'd been riding and forced himself to face the truth. Duo knew what he was doing; procrastinating, hesitating, prolonging the inevitable, avoiding the thoughts of what this day would contain or what last night had meant. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to be responsible for breaking the silence, shifting the mattress and causing events to move towards the consequences of the waking world.

He would much rather just lay there, comfortable and warm for the rest of time; quiet, and consequence free. But...

There was one thing in this world that Duo hated more than being cold, and that was being rushed. Another minute of this idle thought-process and the entire day would be hurried and out of joint.

He turned onto his side.

Heero was facing him, barely moved from where he had been when they had fallen asleep. His eyes were open, an unreadable cast shining through them as he gazed at Duo. Heero had awakened when he'd heard Duo's breathing change from sleeping to waking, his own internal clock wasn't set to go off for another half hour.

"Good morning," he offered tonelessly, but gently.

Duo smiled, "'morning." He bit his lower lip and squinted slightly before mouthing the words, "do we HAVE to get up?"

Heero decided to humour him, pausing as if thinking, then twitching an eyebrow in rebuke, a swift, are-you-kidding-me motion that instantly forced Duo into an exaggerated mock-pout, lower lip protruding beneath overdone child-innocent eyes.

After this quick series of silent sentences Heero attempted a mock-glare and almost succeeded, ending up with a sort of half-smile grimace that, much to his dismay, quickly sent Duo into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"I'll find something for breakfast," Heero offered, giving up, as he slid to the edge of the bed. He ran a quick hand through his hair, returning it to its usual position before adding, "You can have the shower first since you take forever."

The shaking laughter abruptly ceased as Duo opened his mouth with a loud, "I do NOT take forever!"

But Heero had already closed the door behind him.

Duo sat up, shaking his head to himself, knowing full well that he did, in fact, take forever, this being the main reason for his waking up so early in the first place. It could not be helped. Vanity was a cruel mistress. With a pained look on his face he removed the elastic from the end of his hair and began the slow process of raking his hands through the matted braid, far too long left unattended.

Thank God for evening missions.

And Hot Water.

Heero didn't hurry. He knew they'd be eating rations for breakfast, so other than pulling the packages from their bags and placing them on the table, there wasn't really much to do to prepare the meal.

Heero dug the containers from their packs, placing them on the table, and pulled the second chair back from the side of the room to the kitchen. There were still cut strands of rope lying on the floor beneath the chair from the events of the day before.

He walked back to the other room and picked up the rope, twisting the pieces in his hand, thinking.

The outside observer would call this day-dreaming, wool-gathering or staring into space. Another might compare Heero's stance to that of a figure on a screen placed on pause. He stood, eyes staring in front of him towards a dusty duty roster board, but not focused on it. His right hand held the cut rope, his thumb and forefinger turning the rough weaves around and around again. His left hand hung limp, and bandaged at his side. There was a slight indent in his chin where his teeth absently grasped his lower lip.

A scene replayed itself in his mind, twisting like the rope through his fingers, as he examined the memory from every angle, trying desperately to figure out why he couldn't bring himself to forget it, to move on with the day. Sure, he was up before schedule, but he could better spend his time polishing wing or going over mission specifications.

The memory was hardly unpleasant, but its permanence was disturbing, the level of detail with which he could recall every part of it surprised even his expectations.

He had always been a light sleeper, perhaps all gundam pilots were, that was hardly an individual trait. And it was not as if he didn't dream, but he had never before witnessed the ghosts of another's inner recollections travel across a sleeping face.

It's not like he made a habit of watching other people sleep.

It had been last night, of course, when he had done this. After an hour or so of sound rest after crawling onto the bottom bunk with Duo he had awakened, eyes snapping open in trained response to a change in environment. The mattress had shifted, and something had bumped into his thigh.

His eyes had snapped open, and he'd watched as Duo curled tight into himself, knees coming upwards so that Heero could just make out his face between the veil of his bangs and the start of his legs. He had watched, knowing Duo was still asleep, as his face had traced its way from expression to expression, some he recognized: frustration, calm, confusion, grief, and others he could only guess at.

Heero had watched, as Duo's bangs had shifted with every rearrangement of his forehead, how his eyes had followed the movements of whatever wraiths he was glimpsing beneath his closed lids.

Heero had heard when Duo whispered, "Don't..."

"Don't... Leave."

And lastly, Heero had reached out, a hesitant but careful hand, grasping forward and finding its way to Duo's head, gently brushing his bangs aside before tracing a slow line down his face, calming.

Heero had felt as Duo leaned towards his hand, his dreams slowing as he sank once again into a deeper sleep.

After that, he had carefully pulled away and watched for a while until he was sure there would be no more incidents, before returning to sleep himself.

It was this moment, this memory, that Heero found himself uncontrollably replaying, analyzing and examining. It was this memory that Heero found unable to forget, as it twisted and spun its way through his mind.

Who had Duo been talking to?

It was a stupid question, it was a dream, it could have been anyone, but Heero seemed to be full of wasteful questions this morning. Why didn't he wake up when I touched him? Why did I do that? Why was I watching him sleep in the first place?!

Stupid questions. Unanswerable questions. Waste of time questions. Frustrating as hell questions.

Pocketing this rope Heero growled quietly to himself, venting his personal frustrations into that quick guttural sound. Duo would be done in the shower soon, and it was high time he got ready, there would be time for these idle thoughts another day. If he let them wander they would graduate from frustration to distraction and Heero was too well trained to accept that kind of weakness, even from his own thoughts.

Or at least that's what he'd keep telling himself as he cycled through missions specs, preparations and other tasks linking this morning to the evening mission. He could feel the lie within himself, but what was he to do? It's not as if he could just stand around thinking for the rest of the day!

And even if he spent the entire day staring at the dusty duty roster and twisting the broken piece of rope, it would lead him no closer to the answers to any of the pointless questions that plagued his thoughts.

If they even had answers at all.

Biting down hard on his lip, he set himself to task, opening up his laptop and pulling open the pre-mission check list, clicking away his preparations.

This was pure stupidity, he had no time for questions, no time for thoughts about Duo, or the zero system, or doubt or fear. There was a mission to complete and he was thankful for the routine of preparation and the excitement of approaching danger.

Questions and emotions could wait.

Or so he would keep telling himself with greater and greater emphasis until it was forced into truth.

They could wait.